


Heart of Mandalore

by ambiguously



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Death Watch (Star Wars), Gen, Minor Character Death, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Post-Star Wars: The Clone Wars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-11-03 12:30:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10967280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ambiguously/pseuds/ambiguously
Summary: Ursa Wren was a warrior. Naturally, her daughter was born in the midst of a battle.





	Heart of Mandalore

**Author's Note:**

  * For [raininshadows](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raininshadows/gifts).



Ursa Wren was a warrior. Naturally, her daughter was born in the midst of a battle.

Ursa's pride had led her along this bitter path, following the old ways preached by Pre Vizsla, donning the Nite Owl armor to free her home from the weakness rotting away at Mandalore's core. Vizsla even gave her a special place in his campaign as her abdomen grew and her ankles swelled, touting Ursa Wren as a true Mandalorian warrior who fought valiantly during her pregnancy. Pride pushed her past the ache in her back and the worrisome pressure in her veins.

Her friends advised her to heed caution. Her lover advised her to rest. Vizsla handed her a blaster and pointed her at their enemies.

Her membranes ruptured as they were in another close-quarters fight. Her daughter screamed her way into life as weapons fired no more than ten meters away. The first thing Ursa said to her was, "Shush, baby," comforting her ere the cries drew attention from their foes. Her child squirmed in the crook of one arm. Ursa held her blaster in her other hand, waiting for an ambush which did not come.

They won the day, routing their enemies. During the celebration, Pre Vizsla lifted Ursa's child high into the air, drawing a frown from Ursa as the baby's head lolled unsupported.

"This is the future of Mandalore," Vizsla announced. "We fight for our children!"

Ursa took the baby from him, and ignored the whispers as she always did. Rumors swirled about which woman was his, and it didn't matter that Ursa was married nor that she never would. Vizsla touted her baby as proudly as he would his own, and that was the fat the others would chew over later.

As soon as she could get to a comm terminal, she sent a message to her husband: "Her name is Sabine, after your mother." Ursa had wished to name her daughter for a fabled warrior of her own clan, not something so plain. She regretted the message as soon as it went through. But the rumors stopped.

* * *

Her daughter returned to Krownest as soon as she was weaned, safer under her father's care back home than in the increasingly volatile world of the Death Watch. He wasn't a warrior, not the way Ursa was. He read stories to their child, and sang songs to her, delighting in her smiles. Ursa watched them together in strange fascination. She'd fallen in love with her opposite, and she was leaving her baby to be raised under his far more whimsical eye.

"You don't have to go back," he said, when Sabine was in her crib for a nap. "You could tell Vizsla you have responsibilities here."

She shook her head. "If she's to grow up free, I must keep fighting."

His eyes were sad but accepting. "Go back tomorrow. Stay tonight."

* * *

She was the veteran of many battles but the loudest sound Ursa ever heard was Pre Vizsla's head hitting the floor of the throne room beside his body. Ursa read the horror and sorrow in Bo-Katan's face, felt the cold anger in her own heart. They had not fought for so long and sacrificed so much for a Zabrak to seize the throne, nor for him to place his puppet upon it.

Bo stood against Maul, taking half the Nite Owls with her as they denounced him. They fled the palace, and Ursa pursued them, her own blaster heavy in her heads. She fired to miss, tears obscuring her vision as friends and allies died at each other's hands.

After the battle, when the traitors had fled and Almec had calmed the populace, Maul commanded Death Watch to bow to him, and to swear their fealty one by one.

Ursa bowed. Her mouth full of bile, she said, "My lord, I must ask leave to return to my home."

She felt his mind pricking hers. "For what reason?"

"I have responsibilities." She touched her abdomen, where she'd felt the life within quicken only a few days before. "I'm with child. The battlefield is no place for a pregnant woman."

Already bored, Maul dismissed her. Ursa ignored the stares of the rest as she took her armor and left the last of her pride on the floor with the blood of her former leader.

* * *

Sabine had grown since Ursa last saw her, and she ached for the missing months between them. Her first pregnancy had been full of glorious battles and less glorious propaganda. This one found her at Sabine's side, reading her the same inane stories her father found easy to share, and playing innumerable games of hide-the-face as her baby laughed. Ursa longed for strategy sessions, dreaming of war room conversations as she slept in her own fine bed, wishing for stale rations and campfire soup as she spooned puréed fruit into her child's mouth. Mandalore roiled under Maul's hand and Almec's oily lies, and Ursa did not dare take up her arms to oust them, not with her son growing in her belly, not with her daughter already walking.

"I will teach you to fight," she said, whispering into Sabine's dark hair as she set her down to sleep. "You will be the finest warrior our clan has ever known." In the morning, Sabine's fist gripped her color sticks, gleefully covering every surface she could reach with blues and reds and yellows, and she had no interest in the soldier dolls her mother brought her.

* * *

Her younger child was born at home, and was soon surrounded by family and loved ones. Sabine's vocabulary was still single syllable and easily mangled. She called her brother "Fist" and placed wet kisses on his face before demanding Ursa's attention. Ursa was even less cut out for jostling an infant and a toddler than she'd been for her first child alone.

When she received calls from her friends, she invented tales of late nights up with young fevers, and colicky screams preventing her from rejoining the fight. The truth was that both children slept the night through and spent their days calm with their father. He never tired of games or songs, and he praised the rainbow-colored scribbles Sabine left over every scrap of flimsy he could find for her.

"Take the guards and go practice," he said to Ursa, while he crafted puppets from old clothes. "You're happier honing your skills than trapped inside here." The puppet on his hand nodded in solemn agreement until Ursa broke out in reluctant laughter.

The war ended as suddenly as it had begun. The Jedi were traitors, executed for their crimes. Mandalore was handed over like a plate of sweets to the first grabbing hand. Ursa abandoned the silly children's poems and told them both tales of the brave Death Watch and their fight to bring Mandalore back to glory, and she ignored the string of fools sitting on the throne in the Capital that belied her words.

* * *

At five, her daughter could read and write, and she had disassembled the cleaning droid for fun. She had a gift with circuits, and the same eye that covered her bedroom with sketched Oombas and Dolos saw the means to put power conduits together in a pleasing fashion. Tristan picked up the soldier dolls, flying them through the house on their imaginary jetpacks, following Sabine around everywhere. She played as she wanted and he adored her, petting the long, dark plaits of her hair as they sat together.

Their cousins came and played as often as they could, the boys with the rough and tumble Ursa remembered from her own youth, the girls with laser-hot precision to their strategy games. Her children ran among them, but always set apart from them. Sabine would rule the clan one day, and Tristan would be her most trusted ally. The rest jostled for attention and position even at their young ages. Her niece Sacha and nephew Jona were the same ages as Ursa's children and were the favorites at their games, leaving the rest jealous.

"You must play with all of them," Ursa instructed her daughter, brushing her hair free from her braids before her bath. "You cannot show favor."

"Sacha is my best friend!"

"You will be her Countess some day, and she may be your best adviser, but Milta and Erest will be there as well, and you will need their support if you are to maintain your rule."

"I don't want to rule," Sabine said, but the next time the girls were together, she made a point of letting Milta be her partner for the catch, even past Sacha's disappointed frown.

Ursa herself was recalled to the Capital to pledge her loyalty. She went when she was forced to, kneeling before former allies and former foes alike. The Countess could be trusted. The Countess kept her clan in line.

At home, she taught her daughter the use of a sword, wrapping her small fingers over the hilt with care. She took both children out for target shooting. "We protect Mandalore because we love Mandalore." Tristan accepted this as her word. Sabine demanded answers. Why did they love Mandalore? How would they protect it?

"With strength and cunning, and the best weapons we can bring to the battle."

* * *

The Empire pretended not to control Mandalore and Mandalore pretended it was free, even as the taxes levied against them grew, even as the children of the great houses were conscripted into Imperial service. Milta was only a year older than Sabine, and she had already been sent away to war. Sabine was twelve years old when Ursa received the first summons. She closed the message as fast as she could, hoping to bypass the 'message received' signal. She went into her study and using her private terminal, she researched all she could about the Imperial Academy.

Cadets were taught to fight but were expected to lead companies, not march in them. Graduates of the Academy's command programme stood on ship bridges giving orders. Those in the sciences worked in well-funded laboratories. Engineers constructed ships and weapons lightyears away from where they were used.

Ursa was Mandalorian first, and she remembered her pride at serving Death Watch, and she should feel a great duty to give her older child in service to her people. Under the Empire, service was servitude, and children were sent to die meaninglessly for the Emperor's name.

Academy cadets lived.

The entrance exam could be requested by anyone.

She touched the comm panel. "Sabine, come to my study."

Her daughter fidgeted as Ursa explained that she would be taking the exam as soon as transport could be arranged. "You hold the honor of our family in your hands," she told the girl. "I know you are intelligent enough to pass without difficulty."

"What if I don't?"

She wouldn't consider the option. Were her daughter not to be accepted by the Academy, she would be commanded by the Empire to train for far more ruthless work. "You will."

* * *

Sabine returned to Krownest at the end of her first year for a short break. Ursa barely recognized her. She'd grown like a tree, and she'd chopped her dark hair short into an unflattering bob, with a hint of purple streaking a few locks. She didn't look like a warrior, nor like a Countess.

She was home. She was alive. Ursa hugged her, and accepted the new streaks of sarcasm along with the violet hair.

"How long are you staying?" Tristan asked, squeezing her tightly.

"Just until the new term starts. I did so well last term that I'm being put on a special project." She wouldn't talk about it, and Ursa suspected her daughter enjoyed being the subject of some mystery as her brother tried to wheedle out more information about the Engineering programme.

"We're so proud," her father said, and picked her up as he swung her around. She was not yet too big for that.

Ursa set aside some of her own tasks while Sabine was home. After breakfast the next day, she led her daughter into her study and opened the datapad she'd been saving for years. "What is it?" Sabine asked, as Ursa typed her key into the display.

"Instructions. You and I are going to construct the armor of our House for you while you're home."

Sabine's head shot up. "Really?"

"Yes. You're almost at your full height now. You can craft your armor and take it with you when you go back to school."

"I don't think I'll be allowed to wear it at the Academy. I've got an Imperial uniform." Her tone shifted into apologetic as she saw the look on Ursa's face. "But I'll be glad to have it with me."

Ursa doubted her veracity. She remembered thirteen, and the push from her peers to be unique, but not too unique. Her daughter smiled widely at her in anticipation, and in her smile, Ursa saw her own mother, and the day they crafted her first armor, before the Nite Owls, before the babies, before the Empire, back when to live was to love Mandalore.

She handed Sabine the datapad. "We begin with your chest plate. We reinforce the metal to protect our hearts, because our hearts belong to Mandalore, and we must keep them safe and strong."

* * *

There had always been protests. Students from the University, disgruntled rabble-rousers who carried signs against anyone in charge, the usual crowd. Conspiracy theorists espoused story after story about the "real" fate of the last Duchess, or Pre Vizsla, or Prime Minister Almec, when Ursa knew very well Maul had murdered all three. A bit of protest was good for the spirit of a society, invigorating the limbs and pumping fresh blood to the heart.

The Empire had other thoughts about the uses for blood.

Ursa's brother Tonio came to her, face streaked with sorrow. He'd been her mother's last baby, the spoiled one, and she'd listened to him cry many times as an infant. Nothing compared to the heart-shattering weeping he made as she showed her the footage someone had smuggled out from the Capital.

The University students, Sacha among them, had demonstrated peacefully against the Empire's latest atrocity elsewhere in the galaxy. The Empire committed another to silence their protest. The images were mercifully sparse, and still Ursa would never forget the sight of the bodies charring where they stood nor the sounds of the shrieks which went on and on long after any of them should have been alive to scream.

Everyone in the room was Mandalorian, proud and fierce warriors of their clan, veterans of battles. No one was unshaken. Ursa felt ill.

"I'm so sorry," she said, embracing her baby brother in his grief.

"They must be stopped," he said into her neck, as if Ursa could make it all better herself.

Stopped? The Empire had developed a weapon that charred flesh like a roasted puffer pig on a spit. They were unstoppable. They might be unsurvivable.

"Take Jona home. Don't do anything rash."

* * *

Jona went home. Tonio went somewhere else. She could only put together the barest pieces, and she stopped asking as soon as she began in case the Empire did the same. Someone broke into the main Imperial facility in the Capital. Someone set charges. Someone was obliterated when the charges detonated too early.

Tonio had always been impatient.

Ursa said he'd told her he planned on leaving Mandalorian space out of his grief, and that he would return when he could. The lie placated her sister-in-law, and Ursa opened their ancestral home to her and her son as permanent members of the household, favoritism be damned. The Empire either believed her or didn't care. They had better plans to unfurl.

The terrorist attack could not be ignored, they said, as if it hadn't been an attempt to avenge the blood of their children. Mandalore could not rule itself as a democracy, therefore now it would enjoy the personal attention of the Empire, they said, as if the Empire hadn't already been in charge. All dissent is punishable with death, they said, as if they hadn't already made that horrifically apparent.

Ursa pledged her fealty to the newest puppet, kneeling to the Empire in the same room where Vizsla died.

* * *

Sabine had grown again, filling out her armor in the way Ursa had known she would, and scrawling her own colorful marks upon it, also as Ursa had known she would. Her letters had been sporadic from the Academy these last few months, and Ursa paced the corridors at night waiting for the next one and the next. Academy cadets lived. Academy cadets didn't burn to death screaming. Academy cadets were safe.

One look at her daughter's face when she removed her mask said the Academy was not safe, that cadets could be hurt, that surviving was not living.

"I designed the weapons," Sabine told her, chin set in angry pride, determined to make up for her mistake. "I was the one who figured out the power cell conversion. They told us it would be used to clear-cut uninhabited planets for new colonies."

"It doesn't matter," Ursa said.

"It does matter! I share the blame for every one of those deaths!" Her voice broke. "Sacha was there."

"I know. It's over. It's done."

"It's not! They'll keep using the weapons! We have to stop them!"

The echo of Tonio's last words to her were too much to bear. "No."

Her sharp face grew sharper. "I'll fight them myself, then. Tristan will go with me."

"He will not and you will not. You will go back to the Academy and apologize for running off."

"I'm not going back, and I'm not apologizing! This is war, Mother. You've always told me I was born in the middle of a battle. It's my turn to fight for Mandalore." She sounded so sure, so convinced. She sounded like another proud member of Death Watch, ready to go to war at Pre Vizsla's word.

They'd lost the war. Ursa couldn't lose more. Academy cadets were not safe. No one was safe.

"If you do not go back to the Academy right now, you are banished from this house, from this clan, and from all of Mandalore. You will be outcast." She spoke as the Countess, tone firm and formal.

"You wouldn't dare."

Ursa allowed herself one last look at her older child, her daughter, the best part of her. Then she turned her back, and spoke the banishment, striking her from the House as the family watched, flabbergasted but subject to Ursa's decrees. "You have no rank. You have no name. You are no one."

She could hear the sound behind of Sabine turning around, turning her head, looking for support among the rest of the gathered family. Jona had already turned away, and his mother. Erest turned.

Sabine watched her father turn his back, and lastly, her brother. Ursa didn't need to see the expression in her eyes as she understood.

"Fine," her daughter said, and she marched away alone.

No one was safe. Therefore she would give Sabine the only hope she could, the hope Ursa could not keep for herself. Her daughter would be no one.


End file.
